


the only way out is the way back in

by samedifference61



Series: The Only Way Out is the Way Back in [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, M/M, Massage, Multi, OT3, Physical hurt/comfort, Pirate Feels, Polyamory, descriptions of period death penalty practices, madi takes care of the boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 13:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10164296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samedifference61/pseuds/samedifference61
Summary: And Silver obviously means to further agitate Flint’s state when he says, “Do you know what she said to me this morning? She said, ‘I cannot understand why the two of you have not been intimate yet.’”a shared bath, a conversation about death, and a promise





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set just after 4.03 and assumes a bit of down time before 4.04.

Flint’s first thought is he could do with a bath himself.

It never bothers him as much as it should, the blood and sweat and dirt still crusted along his forearms and neck and jawline, clinging to his skin like armor. He wears the aftermath of the raid on Nassau proudly, a warning and reminder to all that he is still very much alive.

Silver, on the other hand, always prefers to rid himself of the residue as soon as he’s able. Shed the evidence down to the bone, revealing new skin and fresh eyes and opportunities to begin again.

Flint only means to warn Silver of Billy’s growing impatience, his insistence on clearing the fort as soon as possible. A decision is needed this night on the matter. Flint doesn’t mean to stay, to crowd Silver in this private space meant for him and Madi, but Silver invites him in anyway, tells him to sit when he hovers near the door, to stay as Silver kneads the muscles of his good leg and sheds the evidence of the raid.  The water filling Silver’s bath is already clouded pink with blood and grit amongst the swirls of soap.

The bed sheets are rumpled with use, and Flint doesn’t think it proper for him to sit there. Surely there was a chair here once, maybe a lifetime ago. In the end, he eases himself down to the floor, just under the double window. He’s near enough to feel the heat radiating from the bath, but not near enough to touch.

It’s quiet here with the door closed, where the hum of the governor’s mansion is muted. It’s always busy now, this house, a constant stream of unfiltered noise from talk and boots and gun metal.

Silver says, “They say Captain Teach is dead.”

And Flint sighs and nods in agreement. He had heard the same, of course. Teach was a brilliant tactician and seasoned captain with a loyal crew. His death will surely impact their cause in ways neither of them have worked out yet.  If they remain alive, Rackham and Bonny will be unstoppable in their shared rage. And that, Flint wagers, will be far more dangerous than where the governor began.

Silver leans back in the bath, eyes on the ceiling. “They say he was keelhauled by the governor while his crews looked on,” and he sounds far away and drifting, exhausted. Shedding his skin isn’t as easy as it once was. The residue remains until nothing becomes something, and it’s all just a little heavier than the time before. Flint knows what that feels like.

“I cannot imagine a worse way to leave this world,” Silver says. His fingertips fall over the edge of the tub, water droplets clinging to them before falling to the ground in a slowing rhythm. His knuckles are bruised and scraped, but the blood is gone leaving only raw and reddened skin. Flint doesn’t know how it happened, but he’s deeply familiar with the ache of bruised and bleeding knuckles.

“Hanged, drawn and quartered,” Flint supplies after a while.  Silver winces briefly, before running his hands over his damp hair. The water from his elbows splashes Flint with droplets.

“Thank you, Captain,” he huffs. “I can always count on you to put things into grim perspective.”

Flint smiles faintly to himself. “I’ve been a condemned man long enough to consider how Whitehall might end me if it ever had the chance.”

Silver hums in acknowledgement.

Flint doesn’t properly feel the weight of his own weary limbs until Silver’s eyes close. The raid aside, he’s slept only an hour or so longer than Silver in the last few days, barely seven hours between them each night for the last several weeks.

Flint leans his head back against the wall and lets his eyes close too. If he stays here, safely behind four walls, without the amplified emotions of battle or strategy or Billy to keep him awake, he’ll sleep.

“I should go,” Flint says to the still air between them, because he shouldn’t sleep here and because he wishes Silver would tell him to go. The sun will set soon, and there’s too much left to do this day.

“Stay,” Silver orders, voice rumbling with near-sleep. “You need rest.”

Flint snorts at that, because really, _Silver_ needs the sleep. Flint’s been doing this a lot longer than he has. Silver arches his neck back over the rim of the tub, letting his hair fall loose over the edge, wetting Flint’s trousers in tiny blots. Flint touches a fingertip to the end of one dripping curl, only because he’s sure Silver won’t feel it.

“I saw it once, when I was younger,” Flint begins, “while I was still in training with the Royal Navy. London was such a _shit show_ that day. You would think people had better ways to spend their time than gawking at a man wailing for his life while being suffocated and hacked into pieces.”

“ _Fuck London_ ,” Silver adds to show he’s still listening.

And fine, maybe he’ll stay for a bit. A few minutes at most. Flint removes his boots, one at a time. He’s sure he must have slept in them last night, because they feel heavier once they’re off and his aching feet are freed.

After stretching his legs out, Flint looks down at his own hands, rubs his thumb over a callous covering his palm where the heel of his sword rests when its handled. He makes a fist to feel the ache in the muscles of his grip and the tremble in his fingers.

“The spectacle of it was horrendous.”

“What did he do to receive such a sentence?” Silver asks. “Must have been something appalling.”

“I honestly don’t remember. I’m not sure the crowds even knew at the time. High treason against the crown was enough for them. The theatrics were what drew them. The man’s blood splattering them when his head was severed from the rest of his quivering body kept them thoroughly entertained.”

Flint thinks Silver is sleeping until he says, “You’re right, of course. I think I would much rather die in the presence of my men than surrounded by a crowd of strangers looking for a good time.”

Flint nods, though he knows Silver can’t see it. In the secret part of his mind, he decided a long time ago he’d never let that happen to this man half-asleep before him.

+

They’re both dozing when the door opens and closes softly.  It’s Madi. She pauses to look down at Flint sitting with his legs stretched out with his back still against the wall. As usual, her expression is flat and unreadable.

“John,” she whispers and bends to place a kiss upon Silver’s forehead.

Silver stirs to arch towards her lips, bringing a hand to the back of her neck to draw her near.

She says to him, “You should rest. Let the captain have his turn. I’ve grown tired of the blood and dirt crusted under his fingernails.”

Flint frowns down at his hands, eyes heavy with sleep. She isn’t wrong, of course, but he says, “Billy’s impatience doesn’t afford me such luxuries.”

“No, Billy can wait,” Madi insists, eyes still on Silver. “It’s time we took care of you.”

“Yes,” Silver agrees.

Madi tugs at Silver’s forearm, urging him to stand from the bath. He uses Madi’s shoulders to balance himself while she wraps linens around his frame and wrings the water from his hair.

“ _Yes_ ,” Silver whispers once more.  Madi nods in agreement.

After she helps Silver to the bed, Madi drains the water from the tub and fills it with clean water from a basin left outside the closed door.

“Stand,” she commands, towering over Flint and daring him to question her. Flint means to complain. He means to leave too, but Madi crowds him to the wall as he rises, not allowing him to sidestep her reach without having to remove her forcibly.

Without permission, she begins stripping him of his clothing. The heavy formal jacket is first, roughly pushed back from his shoulders. Maybe it’s his lack of boots that makes him weak, or the shock of her familiarity, but for whatever reason, Flint lets her undress him. She unbuckles the sword belt and gun holster at his waist, letting both clamor to the floor. The released weight is a surprising relief.

“Does it make you feel confident to carry so many?” Madi asks, frowning down at the collection of guns and swords at their feet.

“I have much to lose,” Flint says. _Much to protect._

“Some of us don’t need protecting,” John offers from the bed, and Flint imagines a world where Silver can read his mind. What a blessing and curse that might be.

Flint grunts at the coolness of Madi’s fingers pulling the hem of his shirt from his trousers.

“Up,” Madi urges, and Flint lifts his arms when she rucks the shirt over his head, leaving his chest and torso bare. She looks him over, and Flint feels split open under her scrutinizing eye. She clicks her tongue at the blood crusted over a cut across his shoulder and upper back.

“It’s not deep,” Flint reassures, when he feels her fingertips brush the wound. It’s too far behind his shoulder to see properly, but it certainly stings when disturbed. He knows it isn’t clean. He hasn’t had a chance yet to wash and dress it properly today. When she presses into the bruising surrounding the cut, Flint reaches back to still her hand, because it _fucking hurts_.

Madi says, “I’ll leave you to the rest,” and pulls her hand away from his. She looks him in the eyes, still not backing down completely. “You will wash, and when I return, I will clean and dress the wound. Lately, you are incapable of taking care of yourself before the needs of the men around you, so I will be the one to demand it.”

“Ma’am,” Flint acknowledges, tipping his head politely, all while trying to ignore Silver’s amicable laughter.

After the door clicks closed with Madi’s departure, Silver asks, “Shall I give you two the room then?” but he’s grinning.

Flint’s hands still on the ties to his trousers. “Stay,” Flint insists. This is his space after all, Flint is the one who should leave.

Silver lays back on the bed with a yawn. “A fool could see the two of you have grown closer in my absence.”

It was not Flint’s intention to draw her near, but, _god, they thought Silver was lost to them forever_. He supposes he and Madi spent those days together out of some unvoiced hope that Silver remained alive. It still makes Flint’s chest tight to think about, how lucky they are that Silver’s solid and breathing and near enough to touch once more.  

He turns away from Silver when he’s stripping his remaining clothes, his own breaths kept carefully measured, before sinking into the bath. The water leaves a scolding red flush to his skin, but it’s more soothing than uncomfortable. Flint dips his head backward to wet his hair and face. The dirt and blood and sweat begin to dissolve.

He doesn’t think Silver is watching him, but just his presence so near is enough to keep Flint’s body keyed up and finely tuned to some emotional response just shy of the adrenaline felt in battle, anticipation that’s out of reach, something he can’t bring himself to act on.

Flint splashes water over his face and rubs at his eyes. _What am I doing here?_ he thinks.

Playing with flame just to feel the singe, it would seem.

And Silver obviously means to further agitate Flint’s state when he says, “You know what she said to me this morning? She said, ‘I cannot understand why the two of you have _not_ been intimate yet.’”

Flint is sure Silver must hear the beat of his heart pounding against his ribs. This conversation is surely not why he came here.

“The two of you speak of me often?” Flint deflects.

“This surprises you?” Silver counters, going up on his elbows to stare Flint down properly. “When you are with her, do you not speak of me?”

 _Every word is ultimately about you,_ Flint thinks.

“And what did you say to her in reply?”

Silver edges to the end of the bed, linens falling to his hips, barely covering him anymore. “I said to her, ‘I’m also unsure of the reason.’”

Flint swallows the dry knot in his throat and looks down at his fingertips, concentrates on picking at the dirt under them because he can’t. _Can’t_ look at Silver when he gets like this, fiery and so sure and uncontained by the walls of this room. He’s open and hopeful and _honest_ in this moment. And _god_ , when did Flint begin telling the difference between Silver’s lies and his truth? It’s all so far out of his own tightly controlled emotions that Flint resorts to an old argument, an argument he knows will be defeated before he’s even begun. “Further complicating our relationship with physical—”

“Yes, I’ve heard it all before.” As predicted, Silver isn’t interested. “But when have we ever chosen the sensible path? Things have changed. _We’ve_ changed. We’re pursuing war with a nation that would see us drawn and quartered for standing against _their_ defined normalcies. And we might just defeat it. We can’t define ourselves by _their_ standards anymore. And _you_ , least of all.”

Silver is awake now. Flint hopes the heat from the water disguises the flush burning him from within, because Flint isn’t sure if he’s got enough fight left in him today for a round of this familiar argument.

“Madi—” Flint tries again.

Silver cuts in, “ _Madi_ has grown quite fond of you as of late, but I doubt that has gone unnoticed.”

“ _John_ , _please_ ,” Flint pleads, raising his voice only slightly. _This path only leads to ruin._

Stripped bare of the fire, Silver’s next words are only left with steady conviction. “If you would calm your inexplicable need to see only the misery and pain of a situation, you might be still long enough to acknowledge the possibility of a different outcome.”

Flint frowns at him, eyes finally meeting after so much careful avoidance. _I’ve missed you_ , he doesn’t say.

“I am not Thomas Hamilton,” Silver says, like he’s been meaning to say it for some time.

Flint never cares for that name to escape anyone’s lips, so he growls back, “That much is painfully clear,” because John Silver has no right to use that name against him, even in private. _No fucking right._

He expects Silver to retreat, wants it even, maybe just to _end this_ for the day, but with a flash of teeth, Silver edges himself further, bracing his hands on the end of bed, poised to lower himself to the floor.

Flint takes a breath and holds it deep.

 _Closer, come closer, come near to me, come here,_ _make me see it,_ Flint repeats in his mind in those short moments of silence between them, feeling his fists open and close when his voice fails him.

Madi opens the door again and Silver remains where he is, the tension lifted from his body when she enters with sure steps.

If she notices a shift in the room, she doesn’t say anything. Silver reaches for her hand as she passes, but keeps his eyes on Flint. Madi pauses to squeeze back before settling a smaller basin, some cloth, and a pot of ointment near the foot of the bath.

She sits near to Silver on the bed, bare feet beneath her, and spreads a bit of the ointment over Silver’s scraped knuckles, taking each hand gently in hers. Next, she smooths it along a cut at his bicep and the twin scrapes at his temple.

Flint looks away.

This moment shared between them wasn’t meant for him. None of this was meant for him, yet he still feels himself drawn in. If they would just close off the idea, Flint would be free of it. Instead he exists within and without, unable to free himself of it.

Her hands are light and cool when they press against Flint’s own shoulder. Flint reaches back to still her hand once more.

“I only mean to dress the wound,” she reassures, and after a few moments, where his breath is the only sound in the room, Flint relents but remains ridged. Refusing her has always been difficult.

She kneels behind him and cleans the wound with water and soap first, gentle with the cloth, but also sure in her movements. The dirt and blood fall away leaving only skin, clean and renewed. The ointment smells of earth and mint and eucalyptus and some combination of other plants he cannot name. It burns initially, but seems to numb the area as Madi carefully works it into his broken flesh and the bruising surrounding the cut.

The tension leaves his shoulders despite his efforts to remain on guard, and he can’t help closing his eyes and bending to let his head fall forward. He realizes Madi must be going beyond what is required to dress the wound properly, as she’s now working at both of his shoulders, but he can’t bring himself to tell her to stop. Her strong hands are pleasant after so much time without touch. _This is okay_ , Flint reasons. _This is fine._ Just a small gift. He can accept it for what it is.

“John, your restless energy is pointless,” Madi says after a while. Flint can imagine a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I do not think the captain will refuse you in this moment.”

Flint stays silent, but grips the edge of the bath, waiting, because she is not wrong.

“But will you refuse it?” Silver says curiously, though Flint can hear him already sliding to the floor from the bed on his knees.

“I do not see why I should begin objecting now,” Madi answers, and pushes into a tight muscle under Flint’s shoulder blade making him grunt and arch into her touch. “This thing held between you had claim long before I became part of it. I understand that now, and I find it is no longer difficult to trust him with you.”

And that seems to be all the convincing Silver needs. Flint braces himself for a touch, light and hesitant, maybe a brush of fingertips.

When it comes, there is nothing light or uncertain about Silver’s touch. He grips Flint’s forearm so tightly, Flint opens his eyes in surprise because Silver only grips him that way when he’s in need of support to maneuver his leg. Flint is met with Silver very ungracefully hauling himself over the edge of the bath to land in Flint’s lap with his knees on either side of Flint’s hips, knocking the air from Flint’s lungs with the impact.

Water slops over the edge of the bath, and over Flint’s chest with the added displacement from two bodies occupying the small space of the tub. Flint, tries to steady him as he rearranges himself to fit along Flint’s body. The slide of slick skin brings their cocks into contact, and Flint holds Silver’s shoulders, stilling him. It’s a warning.

Silver slides back on Flint’s thighs, putting a small amount of space between them. Water drips from his hair and beard, and his smile is wide and bright when he shakes his wet hair back from his face.

“You haven’t any idea what you’re doing,” Flint accuses. _And far less about what you’ve done to me,_ Flint thinks.

“I know enough to understand the swelling of your cock.” Silver looks down pointedly. “That tells me far more than your words ever will.”

Flint rests a hand against Silver’s neck, pressing in. His pulse is lively and fluttering against Flint’s palm. Flint has crushed the life from men in this way. He’s only reminding Silver of it. Silver takes hold of his wrist, pushing into Flint’s hand, challenging him.

“I haven’t been afraid of you in quite some time,” Silver says, “but you must know that already.” He is fucking radiant like this, sure and powerful, like the sun reflected upon glass. Flint isn’t sure why he’s still fighting it, not when Silver keeps looking at him in that way, in a way that reminds Flint he would follow Silver to the depths of hell if he required it.

Flint lets out a breath and bends his arm, defeated. Silver threads his fingers with Flint’s still pressing into his throat. He slides his cheek across Flint’s, drawing out a shaky sigh from somewhere deep in his chest. Flint folds into it, helpless against the slick slide of Silver’s body over his.

Flint pushes back the tangle of Silver’s hair from his neck and cheeks knotting his fingers through it at the back of Silver’s skull. Their mouths come together too forcefully, and Flint bites at Silver’s lip. Silver smiles around it, mouth slick with water and beard scratchy against Flint’s own. His kiss is unrelenting and without pattern, and Flint chases after him, just as eager to give as good as he’s getting. 

Flint can feel his whole body giving into the pleasure when Silver presses him back with a hand around his ribcage until his neck is against the rim of the tub. Silver’s body is covering his in all the important places. The wound at his shoulder protests under the new angle, but Flint can’t maneuver in a way to ease the ache. Silver ruts into the crease where Flint’s thigh and hip meet until Flint reaches down to take both of their cocks in one hand, and the intense pleasure thereafter makes him forget about the pain in his shoulder.

“Steady now,” Flint whispers against Silver’s ear before he takes the lobe between his teeth. His words are meant for both of them, Flint supposes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Silver swears, pressing his wet face into Flint’s neck. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and rolls his hips forward, slowly this time until the infectious sounds he’s making are rumbling all along Flint’s belly and ribs. His fingers press hard into the sensitive flesh all along Flint’s side, slotted against his hipbone hard enough to bruise, like he’s afraid Flint will dissolve if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Flint doesn’t set any kind of rhythm, just lets Silver move against him from above, and that’s almost enough, the water-wet slide of Silver’s cock against his own. Flint uses his other hand to collect the water droplets along Silver’s eyebrows and the bridge of his nose and his eyelashes. He smooths the frown lines on Silver’s forehead with his fingertips. The intense pleasure builds so slowly, slower than he could have imagined when he allowed himself distant thoughts of how he and Silver might come together in this way.

“ _Fuck_ , what have we done?” Silver says into Flint’s collar bones, grating his blunt teeth across skin until he catches a nipple. “We’ve lost _so much time_.”

Flint tips his head back over the edge of the tub, and Silver bites and licks at his throat, until Flint tugs at his ear, ready for another bruising kiss. He curls his toes over the rim to get some traction and widens his hips as much as he can with Silver pressed so tightly between his thighs. The water pitches overboard as they shift and move into a comfortable rhythm.

It’s so easy.

It shouldn’t be this fucking _easy_.

And as it’s happening, Flint realizes just how starved he’s been of this, this focused physical desire from another person, from _John Silver_ as it were. He’s not sure he remembers how to accept it, but maybe if he just lets it all go, maybe his body and his heart will weather through and remember how the pieces fit together.

But there’s still something missing.

“Madi,” Flint calls out. It’s her. _She’s_ missing from this. He can’t see her, but she isn’t far away. He hears her moving about the room once he brings himself to focus on it. More candles are lit on the table near the window. The sun is dipping below the horizon now.

“Hush, I am here,” she reassures, and Flint finds himself thinking he would not mind her between them.

“You can—” he begins, reaching out toward her, but his throat is too choked with emotion to say more.

“Calm your mind, James. This is not yet about me,” she says, and her expression is so transparent now. She is looking at them both with relief and— _adoration_ , and Flint finds he never wants her to look at them in any other way.

+

After, when they’re pressed together on the bed breathing the same air under cover of moonlight through the thick panes of glass, after they’ve taken care of Madi, and she is sleeping comfortably to Silver’s right, Silver whispers into the stillness of the room, “Promise me, if we are separated again, vengeance will not consume you as it once did. Promise me your priority will become _her above all else_.”

The cycle will continue if he lets it consume him once more. Flint knows this.

Flint says, “And if I am separated from the two of you? Or she is separated from us?”

Silver shakes his head, unwilling to accept it. “I fear I can make no such promises regarding the state of my mind if _we_ are separated again, but I will protect her. And you.”

“But you expect me to make such promises?”

“Yes,” Silver states without hesitation.

It is absurd to agree to it when Silver is unable to promise him the same, but Flint finds himself whispering, “I promise,” into the darkness anyway.

They will share the burden until it cannot be shared any longer. Clean their wounds, take breath, and begin again.


End file.
